


The Colors Never Stay

by eatsometea51 (orphan_account)



Series: The Colors Never Stay AU [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Bugs & Insects, Canon-typical language, Character Death, Completed, Dialogue Heavy, Fan Characters, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Illustrations, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Misgendering, Murder, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Red vs. Blue - Freeform, Surgery, Trans Male Character, Unethical Medicine, it’s modern in like chapter 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-07-18 09:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16115603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/eatsometea51
Summary: Richard Simmons is a red soldier in Sunset Canyon. He’d been living there for about nine months, barely interacting with his teammates, until he starts getting sick. Vomiting blood and hallucinations? No one can figure it out, not even the medic.Then Grif shows up, and everything changes.(BEING REWRITTEN)





	1. Headaches

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first serious fanfiction. I understand it is not the best or most accurately researched, but if you have a problem, please contact me and educate me more on the subject so I may improve upon future writings. I do not endorse romanticization of trauma, and this fanfiction is not supposed to convey that idea. I am very opposed to the idea. I’m writing this to mostly vent about some past events in my life I would not like to share explicitly. 
> 
> WARNING: In this fanfiction, there are a few topics you may not feel comfortable about. Here is the list: Vomiting Blood Excessively, Blood (a lot of it), Illustrations of Blood and Wounds, Stabbings, Murder, Uncomfortable Tactile Hallucinations, Mentions of Insects, Trauma, Loss of a Friend, Incorrectly Using Medicine, and Traumatic Memories. These are a few themes common in this fanfiction and if you feel uncomfortable about them I do not recommend that you read this. Thank you for reading.

Simmons was on the floor, coughing up blood. His body was trembling sporadically as the almost frozen tile beneath his hands seeped into his very being. The dull, white lights directly above him shone so brightly that he could barely look up to see that helpless medic. The person lurking over him was none other than Joanes.

 

“I told you not to take my meds,” Joanes mumbled, looking away with his arms crossed.  He was wearing a loose beige shirt with the text “No more shame, No more fear, No more dread,” and shorts so short that it shouldn't be legal. He had skin the color of cherry wood, maybe with a darker tint. He had obnoxiously curly hair that reached to his shoulders and swayed whenever he walked with his helmet off. Brown, dusty eyes stared at the mirror as he mercilessly watched Simmons vomit up pure blood.

 

_“I didn't take your fucking meds!”_ he choked, the crimson torrent still dripping onto the floor. His body convulsed for a second before falling onto the ground. Joanes took a step back before sighing.

 

Joanes rolled his eyes before softening his voice. “Alright, just... stay there.”

 

The short man ran towards his room as quickly as possible. Simmons, confused as hell, was still laying on the floor, covered in his own blood.

 

He glanced at the clock through his door, which was still open. 

 

2:34 A.M.

 

He had several questions.

 

  1. Why was he coughing up worrying amounts of blood?
  2. Why was Joanes awake at 2:34 in the morning?
  3. What was wrong with Joanes’s voice?



 

Joanes had his vocal cords reconstructed through surgery. He had torn them due to a dirt bike accident. This meant his voice sounded a bit.. metallic, but today it was… off.

 

“Simmons!” said an urgent whisper. “I'm going to lift you up, okay?”

 

He groaned as the seemingly weak medic somehow picked him up bridal style (despite the difference between their weight and height) and carried him to Simmons’s room. Joanes lay him gently on the covers and attempted to tuck his lanky frame under, tearing at the blankets, before giving up. 

 

“Okay, alright… I'm going to go get some tissues or something. For the blood. Just, pinch your nose for now.”

 

“But my mo-“

 

“I **will** get to that. Just be patient.”

 

And just like that, he was alone again. And bleeding heavily.

 

Man, Joanes would be absolutely awful on the battlefield.

 

Despite what it seemed like, Blue Team didn't actually fight Red Team that often. When both teams had learned that no one could aim decently, they had a very poorly-worded treaty that basically said, “We won't fight unless we have to.”

This treaty led to the only battles being either rap battles or Jacob trying to roast Simmons for having green armor and being on Red Team (mostly about how green doesn't even have red in the combination). 

 

And they've never had a proper battle since then. This lead to some very strange events, such as the following:

 

Two different surgeries on the battlefield. On the same person.

A rave on the battlefield.

A Viking style merchant city on the battlefield. 

A concert on the battlefield. 

A wedding on the battlefield.

 

No, he didn’t imagine it, _a wedding_. **_On the battlefield_**. He knew it was real because he was the only groomsman for Morgan and Joanes was the ordained minister for the event. 

 

Joanes became one online for about 20 bucks a week before it happened and has been summoned to “sanctify” people multiple times ever since.

 

_**God, this canyon was weird.** _

 

“Hey, Simmons,” Joanes said as he popped out unexpectedly from the doorway, “orange or green?”

 

“Doesn’t matter.”

 

“Orange it is.”

 

Joanes awkwardly waddled over and gave him a metallic tray. On it was two translucent, orange gummy-like things. Next to it was a bottle of water, ibuprofen, some tissues, and a pack of M&Ms. Joanes sat down on the edge of the bed and gave Simmons an awkward _“I’m trying my best”_ smile.

 

“Uh.. thanks..” Simmons tried to say, not trying to sound disappointed or confused.

 

“It doesn't seem that serious, probably a cut from something you ate. So I just gave you basics.”

 

“Why the M&Ms though?”

 

“Always helps me. I only eat the green ones though,” Joanes shrugged. He opened the bag with his small fingers and arranged them by color in less than 15 seconds, scooping up the green ones, and leaving the rest to Simmons.

 

“Impressive,” Simmons mumbled. He glanced at Joanes and saw him staring out of the window. He looked lost, as if reminiscing for a moment, before shaking his head and hopping off of the bed. 

 

“Welp, I'm going back to sleep, have a good night Simms,” he mumbled, grinning.

 

“You too, Joe,” he whispered back. As soon as Joanes left, he took the tissues and dipped it into the water bottle before wiping off dried blood. He then drank the water before popping in a gummy and  setting the cold tray to the side. He crawled up into a ball, tissues shoved up his nostrils trying to stop the blood, and fell asleep.

 

—

 

Simmons was laying on something in a pitch black room. But it wasn’t his.

 

Whatever was beneath him felt incredibly rough and itchy, as if it were made out of straw. His body felt incredibly tired and strained, yet he also felt disconnected, in a way. As if it wasn’t his own. In another room, a radio played what seemed to be a very faint and very distorted version of Toxic by Britney Spears.

 

“— And so this guy just takes him by the neck and they start choking each other! Right on the street! And then my uncle steps in and is all like, well, I don’t remember what he said, but he was really—“

 

_ Who the hell was talking his ear off? _

 

In the dim room, he squinted his eyes and peered at the western corner to spot an **enormous** Hawaiian man laying on his bed, his limbs hanging off the bed. He had a long, orange shirt that somehow made it down to his thighs and long, wavy hair that was like a wreath around his neck. He looked very tired, yet very enthusiastic to tell the story. 

 

“— And that’s why we bought the cat, and why Kai was obsessed with her for five years,” Grif said, turning to Simmons. “You awake?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes, Grif. I’m awake,” he mumbled.

 

Why did he know his name? And why did he say that?

 

“Oh.. well, alright..” Grif mumbled, sounding slightly upset. “Fine. It’s just some lame story anyway…”

 

This guy acts like he’s twelve years old! What the fuck?

 

Simmons decided that this guy wasn’t important. He buried his head into his pillow and hoped that he wouldn’t be thrown off again.

 

“...Simmons?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“...Nevermind.”

 

Simmons never did figure out what Grif was going to say, but he has a faint idea of it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	2. Faulty Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joanes takes care of Simmons. Patrol doesn’t go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:  
> The following chapter contains the following:  
> Blood, descriptions of morbid hallucinations, bleeding, sharp object, badly used medicine and feeling a disconnection with a person's body. Please contact me if you need me to add any more.

Simmons’s morning wasn’t too bad, at least until the patrol.

 

“Simmons, you alright buddy?” a familiar, robotic voice asked over the sudden ringing in his ears. He tried to open his eyes but then shut them close almost as quickly as he opened them.  He suddenly became aware of his aching stomach, feeling as if it was actually outside his body, taken out and sprawled across his body.

 

Wait,  _ what _ ? He bolted his eyes open. He didn’t care about the bright lights. It felt real.  **_Too real._ **

 

He threw his heavy covers on top of Joanes as if they were nothing and immediately grasped at his abdomen, reaching for the organs he swore he could feel and shove them back inside his body, but was terrified to find that there was nothing there. His organs were not taken out. He did not have a surgery. He was not under anesthesia. He was completely fine.

 

_ So why did he feel it? _

 

“You could’ve just asked me to leave,” Joanes said, sounding slightly embarrassed. 

 

“No, it’s fine Joa-”

 

Why was his voice different? Why did his voice sound so… robotic?

 

“Simmons!” Joanes shouted with tears in his eyes, suddenly shaking his shoulders. “Simmons,  **_are you okay?_ ** ” 

 

“What’s going on in there? Everyone alright?” said a man, peeking through the doorway. His short, fluffy hair and beard was the only thing Simmons could pick out, but he knew it had to be his Sergeant Lion checking in on him.

 

“Simmons isn’t doing well,” Joanes said in a sympathetic voice. “He coughed up blood last night, then he started yelling and I went to check up on him, and now, he’s just…” 

 

“Sounds like he’s dying. Look, I’m not the doctor here, but I diagnose him with… death.”

 

“No, no- Lion, can he just… can I just… take care of him for the day? He’s really sick.”

 

Simmons looked at Lion with a desperate look, and with the anxious trembles taking over his body already, Lion seemed to intercept his message.

 

“Okay, but only for this morning. No silly business, you hear?” Lion sighed.

 

“T-Th-Yes sir!” Joanes stuttered, waving his hands excitedly as if he was an excited cheerleader.

 

_ Great. _

 

_ _

 

Joanes immediately started his so-called ”cure for Simmons’s deadly disease” as soon as Lion left. This was his recipe:

12 green M&Ms

3 games of chess

1 bright pink concoction of centuries-old medicines 

 

These went by reasonably quickly, with Simmons later taking the following notes:

  * Joanes is very good at chess
  * Joanes has two sisters
  * Joanes used to be in a wheelchair (at one point or another)



 

When Joanes was setting up their fourth game of chess, the door suddenly swung open to reveal a maroon soldier whose helmet almost touched the top of the doorway. 

 

“Patrol. Now. Get your armor,” she demanded, pointing directly at Simmons. She swiftly turned around and stomped off, the clang of her boots on the floor making an irritating noise.

 

“Awh man, I really wanted to play again,” Joanes whined. “Oh well, you gotta go see…” he paused for a moment, “Eleanor.”

 

“You don’t like her either?” Simmons asked, surprised. 

 

“I don’t dislike her. It’s just that she’s a bit.. harsh. I’ve talked to her a bit, but when you really get to know her, she’s kind of tolerable. You just have to know what she’s been through.”

 

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

“Just go get your armor on Simmons.”

 

—

 

“Are you even awake, Richard?” she scowled, hitting him on the arm surprisingly lightly. “We’re on patrol.” He blinked at her blankly for a moment, and although she couldn't see his face, she definitely noticed the pause. “Pay attention, dumbass,” she spat. She waved her head towards the north, motioning towards a group of rocks. “I was talking about how I heard a weird noise from the boulders.”

 

“Oh. Uh, so we just go… Check it out?”

 

“Have you never gone on patrol before?” She asked, almost as if she was disappointed.

 

“No, I have, but I kind of just walked around and hoped I found something to report back on.”

 

She huffed, amused. “Well, certainly seems like something I’d expect from Joanes, not you.”

 

Did she just show actual human emotions? “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, pursing his lips. 

 

He surveyed up ahead to see a medium-sized area of large, banded rocks. On the left was a big arch-like rock, only slightly taller than Simmons, that had an opening almost half of his height. On the right was a large garden of huge, red rocks that jutted out of the red, dirt ground below him. He bit his lip and examined the rocks for a moment, walking a bit closer. 

 

“Now, enough of this, let’s figure out what made that noise.”

 

Simmons swiftly nodded. Curious, he ran his finger on the colorful bands, resulting in a rust-colored dust on his fingers. “You can take the right side, I’ll take the left. You’re only two inches shorter than me, and I think I could squeeze through if I tried hard enough. Or, I could just… slide in on my stomach.”

 

Eleanor chuckled. “Alright, but don’t be surprised when your new nickname is “Penguin.” She coolly walked over to the rocks and picked up a small pile of pebbles he hadn’t noticed, leaving one with each new way she walked, and soon enough, she disappeared.

 

Slightly nervous he wouldn’t fit, he laid down on his stomach and dragged himself in, his shoulder plates almost getting him stuck. Luckily, he made it out onto the other side, which was surprisingly similar to the other side, just with a giant arch behind him. Peering behind a rather large rock, he found a bird’s skull, along with what was presumed to be its feathers. He gulped nervously, tightening the grip on his gun. 

 

What if it was a giant animal about to eat him? What if someone was out to kill everyone in this awful, barren canyon? Actually, he wouldn’t really care if that happened. Maybe it was a good thing.

 

Despite his reasoning that nothing concerning would be there, he still searched every nook and cranny he could find, just to make sure Eleanor didn’t report back that he finished way too early.

Mid-way through, he gave up and returned to the arch. 

 

“Hey, Eleanor, I can’t find anythi-“ he started to say, halfway through the arch, with his back facing the ground and his lanky legs stuck inside the arch.

 

A terrifying scream echoed across the canyon, almost deafening him. He tried to cover his ears, but it only made it worse, forgetting he was wearing a helmet and blocking some of the airways. 

 

“What the hell was that?” Eleanor yelled from across the rocks. “I think it came from m-“ 

 

Abrupt silence. Then, a very loud, metallic thud. 

 

His heart pounded in his ears as he frantically tried to break free. My pure accident, he swung his head too quickly upwards and shattered his visor. Weirdly, almost a split second afterward, he broke free, stumbling to his feet and running into the right side of the rock field, not caring about the glass shards and blood littering his breastplate..

 

He sprinted through the field, dodging huge rocks that jutted out of the ground at such astonishing angles that it was hard to believe that they weren’t some sort of ancient alien architecture. He searched high and low and then remembered.

 

The pebbles!

 

He looked down to see a path forming, following the tiny rocks until they stopped in front of a huge boulder near the center.  Dark crimson seemed to leak from it, slowly but heavily. In the corner was the glimmer of coral-colored armor staring back at him, along with skin paler than a ghost’s. His grip tightened, he raised his gun, looked around the edge, and dropped it on the ground, staring in pure horror.

 

Over Eleanor’s unconscious body was a humongous man, probably about six feet tall, covered in blood. His orange armor was covered in bullet holes and humongous dents, some you could see from miles away. His long hair looked beige; it hadn’t been brushed in ages, covered in caky sand and globs of blood. The armor plate on his left forearm was missing, instead, there was a giant portion of scarred skin instead of a power suit. He looked so familiar, which made him even more afraid. He looked up and stared deep into Simmons’s partially shown eye, the man’s broken gaze filled with fear.

 

“Please… _help_ us. Get _help_. _Help_ … **_her_**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this took me three days


	3. Greater Vultures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob finds a weird mark. Grif and Simmons meet. Joanes takes a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:
> 
> Okay, so, you know how I mentioned that there's going to be some images of blood and graphic description of it? Yeah, this chapter has A LOT of that. I encourage that you don't read this chapter and instead contact me if you'd like a short summary (although this entire series is filled with graphic description, this is a warzone after all).

The Reds thought Blue Base was a lot more normal than theirs. It wasn’t.

 

Jacob sat on the old, beaten couch, cleaning off his mangy teal armor. He had multiple products scattered around him: multiple wet rags, dish soap, vinegar, and even rubbing alcohol. He squinted and readjusted his glasses, scrubbing harder at the red dirt that just _wouldn't_ come off. He put a bit more soap on the rag and tried again. It didn’t fade a single bit.

 

Morgan walked into the room, his clothes soaking wet, along with his hair. His usually calm and neutral expression was met with a furious scowl. His dark brown hair was pitch black and plastered against his dark skin. His glasses were missing.

 

He took a deep breath. “Jacob, where’d you put my towels?” Morgan asked gently, trying to smile without screaming. Jacob glanced up at him and shrugged, pretending not to know. “Jacob, we’ve been over this. Whenever _anything_ of mine goes missing, **you** are the only soldier who says he doesn’t have it, and then **boom** , it’s in some weird location. Now, tell me. _Where. Are. The._ **_Towels_ ** _?”_

 

“I have absolutely no clue what you're talking about, Morg,” Jacob mumbled, examining the spot of red. Was it rust, or had the paint chipped off?

 

Morgan heavily sighed. “Okay. Fine,” he said, turning around and heading out of the room. “I’ll just… make my coffee first. Yeah- then I’ll go find the towels. Sounds like a goo-

  


1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… **_“WHY THE FUCK ARE THE TOWELS IN THE GODDAMN FREEZER?”_ ** a voice screeched from the kitchen. Morgan stomped back into the room, flipping him off. Jacob chuckled.

 

**_“I hate you,”_ ** he spat.

 

“Love you too, sweetie,” Jacob cooed ironically, blowing him a kiss.

 

Morgan scrunched up his forehead and crossed his arms, refusing to look at Jacob. He frowned and then shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sat down next to Jacob, kissed him quickly on the cheek, and made a “tsk” noise with his tongue. “Fine. I'll help, _asshat_.”

 

In his sister’s own words, “You guys have the most kaleidoscopic, unbelievable romantic relationship I have **ever** seen.”

 

Jacob smiled. “You are so predictable,” he muttered under his breath. ”Anyways, what do you think this is?” he asked, pointing at the small, maroon splotch on his armor.

 

“Hmm, let me take a closer look,” he said, taking the teal shoulder plate from him. He almost smashed it on his face, getting it as close as he could to his right eye. He put it down on his lap and traced the outline. “Rust has a kind of spotty pattern. Looks like it's actually part of the armor. I’m guessing it isn't rust, judging on the texture. Plus, I definitely remember me painting your armor teal and scrutinizing every little portion for red parts.”

 

He was right, the red portion had a very smooth texture, not like rust. “Wait, my armor used to be red?”

 

“Yeah, don't you remember? We got your armor from Red Team. Correll said we should use the spare armor, Jules agreed, but I insisted we couldn't use the spare armor parts for you. I talked to Jo, and he negotiated with Lion. Turns out, they had a spare set. Not sure how we’ll repay em’.”

 

“Wow. You really **_were_ ** oblivious back then.”

 

“Oh, shut **up**.”

 

Suddenly, the radio turned on. “Morgan! Jacob! Be prepared to share rooms if you ain’t already, we got some visitors!”

 

They looked at eachother with concerned expressions. Jacob picked it up. “...What kind of _visitors_?”

 

“Two reds, one stranger in orange. One is unconscious, one is bleeding to death, and the other is okay, just… exhausted. And heavily bruised. I’ll let cha guess which ones,” their captain, Correll, said.

 

“Is Joanes there?”

 

“No. We just need your help,” Jules said, interrupting the transmission. “Yeah, just go get some rags, cold and warm ones, for the wounds and their temperature, some water, and bandages. A lot of em’. Someone also needs to radio Joanes.”

 

Morgan chuckled. “Guess you did something right, Jacob.” Jacob ignored him.

 

“Why can’t you radio him yourself?”

 

“Since you guys are friends, I’d guess you would be able to contact him,” she said. “The radio’s fading out, I’ll see you so-”

 

The radio went dead.

\--

 

Bright lights flashed. Red stained his vision, along with little whitish dots. A woman’s voice. Simmons’s body was aching badly, his muscles strained from… _something_. His skin felt raw, he could faintly see an angry cut on his arm. And was he was in some sort of… bedroom?

 

“Simmons, wake up,” the woman said. This felt all too familiar. He rubbed his eyes and saw a soldier standing over him, patting his forehead. It wasn’t a certain yellow-armored medic, but instead someone else. A _blue_ someone else.

 

She had dark, slightly curly brown hair that she had in a messy bun. She was exceptionally tall: no shorter than 5’11. She had a very smooth complexion, ignoring the mole on her right cheek, and brown eyes that matched her hair.

 

“You’re going to be okay, Simmons. Your friend is doing fine, and the orange soldier is recovering much better than we expected.”

 

“What.. _happened_?”

 

“Your friend found a bloodied up soldier, who was loosing a lot of blood in a very short time, and fainted on the scene. Lion let me check your health records, and _apparently_ she has extreme hemophobia. I don’t know why she’s a **soldier** then, but... that’s none of my business,” she said. “You were screaming, very, very loudly, and we just happened to be on patrol at the same time as that.. event. We tried to tell you that the soldier would be impossible to carry (we thought we should drag him back to base), but you were so unbelievably persistent that you somehow _carried_ the random soldier, who may I add is about 150% heavier than you, _three quarters_ _of the way_ to Blue Base, then you flopped on the ground due to exhaustion. Basically, all of you fainted for different reasons, and me and Correll had to drag you all back to base by ourselves.

 

“How long have I been out?” He asked, scratching the back of his head.

 

“...Maybe four, six hours..? Morgan called Joanes to help,” she said. “Now that I mention it, if he’s not in Eleanor's room… I guess I should be there…” she thought aloud.

 

“Good, good,” he mumbled. “By the way, what’s your name?”

 

“Jules.”

 

So _that_ was Jacob’s sister. “Alright. Thanks, Jules.”

 

Jules smiled and shuffled nervously out of the room. Her shoes made a soft scuffing noise against the floor, her steps incredibly shaky. Suddenly, the noise stopped, and then continued, yet it sounded like it was getting closer. She popped in through the doorway and awkwardly smiled.

 

“Uhm, would you like to go... see the man you rescued?” she asked politely, her voice quivering slightly.

 

“...Why do you ask?”

 

“Uhm, you don’t have to, it’s just that when he talked to us… it was about you,” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I thought maybe you could speak to him while I care to Ell.”

 

He looked at her blankly. “Uhm… sure?”

 

“A-Alright! Go down the hallway to the last door- the one on the right. You’ll find him there. Might be dark though.”

 

Simmons sat up, immediately regretting his decision. It felt like all of his blood had just rushed to his feet in a quick flashflood. He tried to steady himself with help from Jules and a random dresser next to his sickbed. He waved his arms wildly, like a fourth grader learning how to skate, and tried to grasp for something.  Jules chuckled and pulled him upward, but he just ended up looking like an annoyed cat. She put him back down and tried not to snort. Simmons’s face burned red as he walked out, trying to adjust glasses that weren't there.

 

He walked down the hallway, the place a blurry, dark mess. At the very end was two doors with a broken light above, flickering off and on. He put his hand on the right door tentatively, pausing for a moment before opening it wide open. He closed his eyes, flicked on the lights, and opened them up to just stare in shock.

 

Brown eyes splattered with red stared at him, the worry in them almost overtaking him. His long, dark chestnut hair was even worse than before: now the dirt had fully dried, along with the blood, making his hair have multiple red, hideous streaks of various lengths spread across it. His armor was stained with the crimson, almost looking as if it was painted on him.

 

“ **_Stop staring at me_ ** ,” he growled, looking away as he slowly rose, then sat back down, grimacing. He looked at Simmons and his mouth opened slightly, his eyes wide. “Wait. Are you... Simmons?”

 

He didn't know how to respond. “Uhm.. y-yeah. Richard Simmons.”

 

The man stared at him with a bewildered expression. “You're not like.. a ghost or somethin’, right? I… You were there. You were there,” he said, repeating it over.

 

“Last time I checked, no.”

 

“..You were in my dream. I was at the base, and.. there was blood- blood **everywhere** , it was like an ocean of just _red_ , and I blacked out, and _you_ were there, and you were talking to me, and I just-” He said, rambling so quickly that he was kind of shocked when he stopped so abruptly. From the hallway was the sound of someone’s voice, and it was getting closer, and they were… _singing_?

 

“-with guns, there's a gerbil in the microwave, a baseball bat in ev-er-y-one, sharing kisses and building a b-” The door swung open to reveal Joanes, singing in the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. He had his armor off, wearing the most casual wear you could imagine. He flicked the lightswitch, unaware that it was already flicked upwards, and suddenly froze. He looked at Grif, then Simmons, and then back to Grif again and blushed. “O-Oh. Uh, s-sorry, uh, you're Grif, right?” he said, pointing at the orange soldier.

 

_Grif_.

 

“Yeah. So?”

 

“I got the shower working. Jacob and Morgan are busy with armor, Jules is taking care of Ell, and Correll is checking the rock field, so I came to get you.”

 

“Don't watch me.”

 

Joanes stuttered, flustered. “U-Uhm, I wasn't planning on doing that, I swear! I'm not even going i-”

 

Grif just got up, elbowed him in the stomach, and left smirking. Joanes and Simmons were now alone in a small, stone room with a bloody, old chair in the middle. Joanes looked around awkwardly, his gaze jolting from one corner to the next, like a TV screensaver.

 

“You're _really_ good at singing,” Simmons said, trying to break the silence.

 

“Oh.. thanks,” he said, trying to sound happy. He looked down at the ground, furrowing his brow. “I'm not really so great today.”

 

“Why not?”

 

He exhaled deeply, then breathed in slowly. “Simmons. What the actual **_fuck_ ** are you on?”

 

Simmons just shook his head in surprise. “ _What_?” He asked. Joanes was never this aggressive.

 

“I try to have a fun, nice morning, and you just don't **_appreciate_ ** it. Then, you and Eleanor go out on patrol and meet some random guy, and both of you get hurt. And I have to-” he started ranting, but a strange ringing noise stopped him. He dug out a very, very old phone from his pocket and looked at it with the most horrific yet blank expression Simmons had ever seen. “I need to take this.”

 

Joanes walked out the door and took one final glance back before closing it shut. Simmons blinked.

 

“It'd be a dick move to listen in,” he thought, “but honestly, it wouldn't hurt _this_ time, would it?”

 

He put his ear against the door, listening intently. A disappointed woman’s voice could be heard from the phone.

 

“ _How_ did you get this number?” Joanes said, panicked.

 

“That's **not** important. I want to know why **you** ran away.”

 

“You know exactly why I left you guys, Mom.”

 

“No, I don't.”

 

_“You kicked me out of the house! Where was I_ **_supposed_ ** _to go?”_

 

“You could've _changed_ , and we would’ve let you back in, **_Olivia_ **.”

 

Dead silence.

 

**_“Don't you ever call me that again, you fucking monster,”_ ** Joanes said in the deepest, most demonic voice he could possibly do. **_“I will never change who I am to fit your standards. Now, don't ever fucking call me again, or else.”_ **

 

A beep, followed by angry footsteps. Simmons quickly skidded away from the door as Joanes came in. They didn't speak, Joanes just looked away in… dismay?

 

“Joanes?”

 

“Simmons, I think it'd be _very_ wise of you to just **_shut the fuck up right now and leave.”_ **

 

Simmons didn't sleep well.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my literal child Micah (@liet_erally)and my girlfriend Patricia (@SpakoForDead) for beta reading this! You guys are the best.
> 
> The song Joanes sings is Getting Naked, Playing with Guns by AJJ. Check em' out if you like rock/punk music, they're really good!


	4. Hiraeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif brings back some repressed memories. A new member joins Red Team.
> 
> (EDIT: Robyn's last name was fixed to Hammer. Robyn is not related to Caboose.)

Grif wasn't used to to the general hospitality of Sunset Canyon just yet.

 

That morning, he sat down on an old sofa and drank coffee from a blue mug that some dude gave him earlier. He drank it gratefully, basking in the warmth from the beverage and for the fact that he hadn’t eaten in days. He stared down at the empty mug.

 

“Hey, uh.. orange guy,” said a voice, “What's your name?”

 

“Grif,” he responded, looking up from the mug. He was a bit shocked to see that she was very short, and her hair was almost entirely grey. She couldn't be any younger than sixty, yet her eyes were filled with the innocence of a child. Her voice reminded him of a mother, warm and gentle as she spoke to him.

 

“Ah, that's what I thought,” she said, coming over to him with something in her huge hands. “Here, take this. Don't tell Jules I gave em’ to ya, she’ll have a fit.”

 

She carefully placed two, wrapped snack cakes into his scar battered hands. He gave her a thankful smile and engulfed them in front of her.

 

The lady chuckled. “Welcome to Sunset Canyon. I'm Correll,” she said, holding out her hand. Grif wiped his hands on his shoulders and shook it. She sat down next to him and smiled, the corners of her mouth wrinkling. “I'm the Captain of Blue Team.”

 

Blue Team… That sounded strangely familiar.

 

“You need some new armor, I think we have some in the storage unit… Might be a lil' old though.”

 

“What color is it?” he asked.

 

“I think it's.. purple. Wait, no- burgundy. No, no, it's purple alright. I think it'd look nice n’ dandy on ya.”

 

“Purple armor,” he repeated. He wasn't sure on how he felt exactly with **_purple_ ** armor… something just didn't seem right about it… but maybe she was right. Maybe it'd look nice on him. Maybe this canyon wasn't too bad after all.

 

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Ca- Correll, I can't stay here. I need to go back.”

 

“Back to.. your home?” she asked softly, her voice tinted with disappointment.

 

“Back.. back to…” he stopped, “home?”

 

What was it called? He was in a canyon, he had a friend, and.. what was their name again? A bird of some kind? And there was this Sargeant, and-

 

**_Blood Gulch. Robyn Hammer. Lieu Johnson._ **

 

The repressed memories started flooding back, filling his body with pure, utter dread. His mind flickered on the image of his friend's tearful face, mouthing silent words until all went still. Lieu staring back at him with daggers in his eyes as he pointed the bloody knife at him. Crystalline tears started dripping down his face and the world seemed to blur around him

 

He started sobbing, screaming, just yelling so loud and everything just seemed like so much and he just wanted it to stop and why couldn't it stop and just-

 

Through uncontrollable tears, he warbled out one, singular sentence: **_“There's home for me to go back to, Correll.”_ **

 

\---

 

He was in the main room of the base, holding his aching jaw. “Hey Grif,” Robyn said, sitting down next to him.

 

“Hey Robyn.”

  


“I _can’t_ believe Lieu threatened you like that!” they exclaimed, “You were **_vomiting up blood_ ** , how could you just **stop** that?”

 

“It’s fine,” Grif said, intertwining his fingers. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

 

“It’s really, really fucking weird. Like- he says that we’re part of his team, but like.. he acts almost exactly like Blue guys!” Robyn exclaimed, crossing their arms, “He’s a total **asshole**.”

 

“Well, we won’t have to deal with him for much longer. We’re getting reassigned soon.”

 

“Soon? More like two weeks from now. That isn’t soon.”

 

“Well, I mean, all I had to do was just overhear a call to Blue Base and bam- a get out of jail free card.”

 

“Yeah, but Lion was at least manageable until you did that. He's been pissed ever since.”

 

**_“Private Robyn! Grif! You two, get out here right now!”_ **

 

“Wonder what it's about this time,” Grif grumbled. Robyn rolled their eyes. They both grabbed their shotguns, stepped outside in front of the base, and stood straight up, saluting Lieu.

 

“Yes Sergeant Lieu?” Grif and Robyn said in unison, letting their arms down.

 

“Quick question for you two privates: what happens to insubordinates?”

 

“They’re-“

 

Lion made a buzzer noise with his voice. “Time's up for you Robyn! Now, Grif…”

 

Silence. Lieu cocked his gun.

 

“Grif, buddy, what happens to insubordinate soldiers?”

 

Grif stared at the shotgun. “T-They’re shot?”

 

“...According to the handbook, yes,” he said, lowering the gun. He slowly reached for something behind him Grif couldn't see. “But you didn't take in a certain factor.” He slammed Grif against the base’s wall, holding a knife against his throat. “We don't really follow rules here, Dexter.”

 

“No!” Robyn screeched, barreling into Lieu and tackling him into the dirt. Lieu grabbed them by the neck, and before Grif could say anything, Lieu stabbed them right above the collarbone, jamming the knife deep into their flesh. Lieu flipped their body off of him and stared at the body, then at Grif with a look of utter fury. Grif stood in horror as he watched them writhe for a moment, blood gushing out of the wound, then going slowly more still. Lieu knelt down, yanking out the knife with a swift motion, the blood cresting in the air. The crest splattered his red armor in crimson as he stared at Robyn with soulless eyes. Mortified, Grif fell to his knees and stared at Robyn’s dying body. Lieu pointed the bloody knife at Grif.

 

“You have a lot to learn, Dexter,” he growled. He turned the other way and walked towards Blue Base, twirling his knife proudly. Grif scrambled over to Robyn’s dying body as Lieu walked away, putting away his knife.

 

“Grif…” they whispered, “Grif.”

 

“It's okay buddy, it's okay, you're going home, I’m going to get you home, just don't die,” he pleaded, turning on his mic and typing in a single “5” before Robyn stopped him.

 

“Grif.. Grif… I don't think you understand,” Robyn whispered. **_“There’s no home for me to go back to, Grif.”_ **

 

**__ **

Robyn gently caressed his face, their fingers soft and delicate against his, and smiled before losing all consciousness. Grif just sat there in disbelief, Robyn in his arms, and stared at the wound as his radio fizzled with white noise.

 

\---

 

Simmons sat in a small, cramped room next to a very pissed off Eleanor and Joanes, who wore his helmet (for whatever reason). His right cheek stinged from the angry slap Eleanor had given him for not visiting her during recovery.

 

“So, I wanted to apologize briefly. I told you this was a meeting, but it’s more like an announcement,” Lion said, folding his hands.

 

“Let me guess- you’re marrying Joanes,” Eleanor said sarcastically.

 

“Although Joanes is a great soldier, I am not marrying him,” Lion said, “what I wanted to say is that we are getting a new team member!”

 

“Grif?” Simmons and Joanes asked in unison, Simmons sounded a bit too enthusiastic.

 

“No. Grif is the reason we are actually getting a new one, since Blue Team is taking him in.”

 

“Why?” Joanes asked, his voice muffled by his helmet.

 

“Joanes, could you kindly take off your helmet? I can’t hear you very well.”

 

Joanes sighed and took it off, revealing his new haircut. It was still rather curly- but now, it was a pixie-cut. He looked away, pretending not to notice the surprised stares. “I said, why aren’t we taking Grif in?”

 

“Grif seems to have some… uhm, **_trauma_ ** , from his previous canyon,” Lion said hesitantly, “Correll asked me if he could stay, since Jules actually  used to be a therapist before joining the army.”

 

“So… where are you getting the new team member from?” Eleanor asked.

 

“Did I say that? No, I meant a freelancer. I think their name was Agent Minnesota?”

 

“ **That’s** a dumb name,” Simmons said sarcastically.

 

“It’s a code name. It’s not supposed to have an aesthetic to it,” Joanes sighed.

 

“Joanes isn’t that much better.”

 

“Neither is Simmons.”

 

“Ahem,” Eleanor coughed, glaring at the bickering pair, “when is this freelancer arriving?”

 

“Oh, he’s already here!” he exclaimed. “Micheal! Come meet the team!”

 

Through the small, metal door came the a giant man in bright blue armor, along with orange streaks. He took off his helmet, revealing a man with a huge, dog-like smile.

 

“Hello!” he said, waving to the team. Everyone stared at him in confused horror.

 

“Red Team, I’d like you to meet Michael Caboose, or by his freelancer name, Agent Minnesota.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this chapter is BAD but the illustration (which took me four hours and still ended up bad) used a reference featured here: https://www.deviantart.com/senshistock/art/Wake-Up-Couple-Pose-Reference-673455059
> 
> im not posting the art to tumblr so i can't really @ them :(
> 
> thanks to micah and sol for beta reading this


	5. Unknown Sender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons receives a text from a random number. Grif comes over to Red Base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: don't read this if you really don't like insects. there's a comparison in here due to Simmon's tactile hallucinations with bugs so uh. yeah.

Red Team was able to come back to their base. This would've resulted in a celebration, but since Caboose had come with them, they had to do their way of choosing where he would be placed in their rankings.

 

Even though the handbook says that they shouldn't divide themselves, Lion used Mario Kart in order to determine certain privileges they got. Depending on your rank, you get more saltine crackers or more free time instead of training. The rankings looked like this, so far:

 

  1. Joanes
  2. Simmons
  3. Eleanor



 

All Caboose had to do was beat any of them. 

 

“So, Caboose, who do you usually main? You can't take Yoshi, Bowser, or Ludwig,” Simmons said while setting up the old console.

 

“Uhm… Luigi is fine,” he said, picking up a controller, “So are we like… All playing together at once?”

 

“Yeah, Joanes and Eleanor will come running in soon,” Simmons said, taking out a phone from his back pocket.

 

“Wait, you guys get phones? Then why don't you use the radio?”

 

“Radio is for serious emergencies, our phones are not,” he said, typing something, “anyways, only Red Team has them. The Blues don't have any.. except Correll- she has  _ four _ of them. They were confiscated because of a fiery merchant city reenactment. Not sure of all the details.”

 

“...How the fuck did  _ that _ happen?” Caboose asked, squinting his eyes. “Doesn't matter. You almost done setting this u-”

 

**_“MARIO KART?!”_ ** Joanes shrieked from his bedroom. Seconds later, Joanes burst into the room and canon-balled onto the sofa, grabbing a controller. “I CALL BOWSER!”

 

“Alright, alright,” Simmons said, sitting down on the huge couch in front of the television. He went through the games they had: Minecraft, Super Mario Party, and Mario Kart 8. He chose Mario Kart and watched the small intro as Eleanor entered the room, selecting the last controller. As she sat down, Simmons had entered the four players screen and waited for them to join. 

 

As they spammed their controller's buttons and chose their characters, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He checked his phone and saw that he had a new text message from an unknown number.

 

_ >hey you want that orange dude’s number< _

 

_ >who is this?< _

 

_ >correll will kill me if she finds out so i can't let you rat me out< _

_ >do you want his number or not< _

 

_ >yes. i do.< _

 

As he watched the small “ _ typing… _ ” appear on the bottom, Joanes slapped his arm. “Simmons! Choose your kart!”

 

“Oh yeah, yeah, sorry,” he said, putting his phone away. He quickly chose his regular kart and continued to the possible cups they could compete in.

 

“Flower Cup! Flower Cup!”

 

“No, Joanes. It's the initiation: we need to play at least one of the Rainbow Roads.”

 

“Awh… Do the crown one, then.”

 

Simmons chose the one with the crown displayed on the front.  _ Special Cup _ , it read. His phone vibrated in his pocket.  Joanes, who heard the buzzing, turned his head to look at him with eyes like daggers. His whole body seemed to shake as he raised one crooked finger and pointed at his pocket, squeezing the controller so hard that he could almost break it. “ **_Don't_ ** .”

 

Simmons gulped and pressed the  _ A _ button. The team started cheering enthusiastically, watching the loading screen and shouting taunts at one another. Simmons quickly opened his messages and read the number.

 

> **_555-492-8227_ ** <

 

He quickly added the numbers to his contacts, named the new contact “ _ grif _ ”, and put his phone away just in time for the finish line to fade in.

 

\---

 

Morgan walked to his room while Jacob held his hand, their fingers intertwined.. The taste of cheapy bought Pepsi chapstick could be faintly tasted on Morgan’s lips and left cheek, along with the faint smell of cheese flavoring.

 

“So…” Jacob said, opening their room’s door, “what’d you think about that new guy?”

 

“He's okay,” Morgan said, “gave him an old mug o’ mine earlier.”

 

“I'm not really sure sure what to think of him,” Jacob said. 

 

“Mhm,” Morgan huffed, fumbling into the bed and setting his glasses on the counter. Jacob lay down next to him. 

 

“I mean, they found him in a puddle of blood. Doesn't that seem even a bit suspicious to you? And the fact that he had a  _ perfectly good set of armor _ and yet got this new purple pair?  **_And_ ** the fact that he said he was reassigned, yet he showed up in the middle of nowhe-”

 

“Maybe he’s a freelancer,” Morgan mumbled.

 

“How… Wha- Why would you think that?”

 

“I mean, think about it. Those guys always have some funky backstory, and this guy could've been like, dropped out of the air or somethin. We haven't had a freelancer before: maybe that's just what they do?”

 

“Seems kind of odd that they'd just drop super soldiers from deathly heights just to help us win the war.”

 

“Seems kind of odd command authorized the marriage of us assholes,” he chuckled, turning to face his husband. He smiled and pecked him on the forehead, ruffling through his curly, black hair. “I love youuu~” he cooed drowsily.

 

“Love you too,” Jacob whispered, turning the lights off. 

 

\---

 

Simmons sat in bed, wide awake, terrified.

 

Every time he closed his eyes, every time he even tried to get a wink of sleep, he swore he felt millions of tiny bugs crawling on every inch of his body, spilling out of his eyes, his mouth, and his ears. Just to add to the horror, at the edge of his vision, he swore someone was lurking there, yet every time he tried to look at it, it dissipated in a shadowy mass. He sat there, wrapping his arms around his legs.

 

_ “Did I take Joanes’s meds? Maybe I did. Maybe that's why this happened. Or maybe I didn't get enough sleep? No, no, that can't be it. Maybe it was- No, no… It's not about the reason, it's why. Why the fuck is this happening to  _ **_me_ ** _?” _ he pondered. Suddenly, a buzz from his phone. He picked it up.

 

It was from Grif.

 

_ >hey, is this grif?< _

 

_ >yea, who's this< _

 

_ >richard simmons.< _

 

_ >you're that green guy?? from like a week ago??? how'd you get this number???< _

 

_ >olive. random person gave this to me< _

 

_ >huh. weird< _

 

_ >so, how'd you get a phone?< _

 

_ >correll gave me her old one cause she felt bad for somethin earlier. don really want to talk about it. told her it was unnecessary but she did it anyways. she's like a weird aunt lmao< _

 

_ >cool. so… why are you still awake?< _

 

_ >prefer not to answer.< _

 

_ >oh. anything cool happen at rb?< _

 

_ >reblog?< _

 

_ >red base, dumbass.< _

 

_ >oh. well, caboose beat everyone in mario kart. he now gets snack privileges.< _

 

_ >YOU HAVE MARIO KART IN RED BASE?????? HOW????????< _

 

_ >joanes found it while rummaging this trash pile full of old technology from 500 years ago.< _

 

_ > _ **_GET FUCKED NERD!!! IM COMING OVER AND YOURE NOT STOPPING ME_ ** _ < _

 

Simmons really didn't know what else to say. He wasn't sure if Grif was serious, so he put on the most casual clothes he could and turned on the TV. He didn't receive another message until thirty minutes later.

 

_ >i’m here fucker< _

 

_ > _ **_what_ ** _? < _

 

The front base door creaked open a sliver to reveal Grif standing there, fully clothed. 

 

“ **_Dude, what the fuck_ ** ?” Simmons whispered.

 

Grif looked slightly better than less time. At least he wasn't covered in blood. His hair wasn't as matted, and now he could tell his hair was kind of wavy. He now wore thickly rimmed corrective glasses that he hadn't seen before. He developed a weird stubble around his already existing goatee, which surprisingly looked okay on him.

 

“It was too tempting,” Grif admitted, “anyways, turn down the volume on the TV and don't talk  _ too _ loudly. Also, set the race to 100CC. 50 is  **_way_ ** too low for my taste.”

 

Simmons just stood there for a second in disbelief. A man, all by himself, had walked from Blue Base to Red Base at 3 AM just to play Mario Kart with him.

 

“So? Are you ready to get your ass kicked?” 

 

“Y-Yeah,” he squeaked, “wait- fuck-”

 

Grif just rolled his eyes playfully. Simmons quickly went over to the sofa, turned down the volume, grabbed a controller, and sat on the left side. Grif quickly joined him and picked a character: Waluigi.

 

Simmons chuckled a bit and moved on to the next screen, choosing his kart (which was already set into the system, all he did was press A three times) and waited for Grif. He glanced over and awkwardly smiled. His cheeks flushed red. God, he looked…  _ really _ nice.

 

“I used to play this with my sister when we were younger- an older version. She loved it to pieces,” he whispered.

  
  
  


“Oh. I've only ever played this version.”

 

“I can tell. You aren't desperately trying to figure out how to use this controller,” he said, trying to get a good grip on it. “By the way, is there an inverted controls option?”

 

\---

 

It was 4:30 AM. Grif had found out that they had Minecraft on the console, so now he was playing Minecraft.

 

“I learned this from Walking Dead,” he mumbled drowsily, hitting a zombie with an oak log. 

 

“That’s not gonna work…” Simmons mumbled drowsily. He looked up at Grif with a fond smile and flopped onto his shoulder. Grif froze and looked at his content, sleepy face.

 

“Simmons..?” he asked, but it was too late. Simmons was asleep. Grif sat there for a moment, listening to him snore. Grif just couldn't seem to look away, he was just…

 

“ **_God fucking damn it,_ ** ” he whispered. Whether or not it was because he realized he already fell in love with a nerd in a week, or because he couldn't get up, is a mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't expect an update soon. im working on a different project, an original creation... ;)
> 
> please contact me @venochu and ask me questions and/or correct mistakes. or yell at me.
> 
> also i don't own mario kart or minecraft. mario kart belongs to Nintendo and Minecraft belongs to Microsoft. have a coolerino day


	6. Static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif sees something he wasn't supposed to. A soldier gives them an exciting announcement.

5:24 A.M.   
  
Grif closed Red Base’s door behind him and sighed. It felt awful to just leave Simmons alone, but he needed to go back. Jules would be pissed if she knew he left.   
  
He trudged across the empty canyon, the night sky twinkling softly above him. His brown hair swayed gently in the winds as he moved along, his footsteps heavy. He soon saw the huge rock field in the distance, swearing he could see a shiny glimmer in the far distance behind it. It certainly piqued his interest, but he shook it off and approached Blue Base’s door. He looked around nervously and slowly opened it to find an empty, dark Blue Base.    
The slight hum of the refrigerator (seriously, how do they have this much technology in a time of war?) and the soft huffs of his breathing.    
  
“Safe so far,” he thought. As he entered the living room, he heard a sudden, loud coming from all around him.   
  
He swerved around and tried to locate the origin. This wasn't just any kind of sound. It was white noise, and it was coming from everywhere. The walls, the floor, his mind; everywhere. An image seemed to flash in his mind- Robyn’s pale face, their bloody neck, their lifeless eyes, his radio fizzling with static as he desperately tried to call out for help...   
  
He frantically ran to the room they had given him, the noise almost deafening. His thoughts were completely incoherent as he slammed the door behind him and huddled in the corner of the room. He still heard the unmistakable crackle of static buzzing in his ears and put his head between his knees.    
  
Make it stop, make it stop!   
  
“Grif? Grif! Are you okay?” an estranged, tired Jules called out, but he couldn’t hear her over the noise. Everything seemed to be like a whirlwind of images in his mind. As tears dripped down his face, the world seemed to change around him. The room seemed to dim until it became pitch black, with the only thing he could see was his own self. He covered his face and started shaking and crying uncontrollably.    
  
“Grif,” an unmistakable voice called out, their voice resonating with anger. Robyn. He went silent as he looked up at their mangled appearance and gasped. They looked exactly how they did when they died: Blood oozing from the stab wound on their neck, their messy hair tinged with crimson, but there was a difference. They had no irises or pupils, resulting in purely white eyes. “Why would you just let me die like that?”   
  
“I-I didn’t think he would do that!” he shouted, his voice warbling.    
  
“You never think about other people, only yourself! You let me die, Dexter,” they spat. “I died for you, and look at what you've done. You're just an ignorant, lazy, dramatic slob who needs total strangers to take care of you.”   
  
“You saved me. It was your choice to sacrifice yourself,” he said, confused.   
  
“Only because I knew you wouldn’t stand a chance,” they whispered. “You have a lot to learn, Dexter.”   
  
Robyn’s body slowly faded away as they walked away, their expression filled with hatred, anger, and disgust. Guilt seemed to pour down on him as he stared off into nothing. Grif sat there, his eyes red and puffy and let out a shaky sigh as the room returned to normal, his teammates gathered around him with worried expressions.   
  
The buzzing disappeared.    
\---   
  
Simmons very quickly remembered what had happened that morning when he realized he was on the couch and smiled a bit. The television had been turned off and the controllers were back on the table. He quickly noticed that sunlight poured through the small window. Confused, he glanced over to the clock.   
  
12:42. He'd been out for that long? Why did no one wake him up?   
  
That's when he noticed Red Base was very, very quiet. Too quiet. He quickly got his phone, ignoring his headache.   
  
>joanes, what is going on?<   
  
>You woke up<   
  
>where are you?<   
  
>Outside. Come out its important. You dont need you armor<   
>*your<   
  
He blinked. What could have possibly happened in the middle of the day in a random box canyon, which didn’t need his armor? Turns out, quite a lot.   
  
He opened the door to find everyone but Jules and Grif standing around a soldier with orange and blue armor in the distance. He noticed that behind the soldier was a miniature Pelican. Surprised, he ran up to the group.   
  
“-so, after this, you can all g-”   
  
“What the hell is going on?” Simmons asked. The strange soldier turned to look at him with a surprised expression.    
  
“Oh, hello! I'm Agent Indy here to tell you some great news: you're all going home!”   
  
“What?” almost everyone said in unison.   
  
“Yeppers! Turns out there was a teensy-tiny malfunction. You see- we recruited a trooper to be one of our agents in our program, but it turns out he was left here by accident. These kind soldiers told me that he is here and in an even worse condition than he was when we found him, which either means he's dead or he lost a limb. So, everyone’s going back home, except for him- unless he doesn't want to join, in which, he will be returning home soon, too.”   
  
Simmons didn't know what to say. “We’re going home, we’re going home!” someone cheered.   
  
He was going home. “Wait. How soon?”   
  
“Two weeks! My organization has determined that after all of your shenanigans, you deserve to go back.”   
  
“Uhm, sir? I uh... I don't really have a home. So where do I… Go?”   
  
“I-” the soldier began.    
  
“You can stay with me, Joanes,” Correll said, patting him on the back.    
  
“R-Really?!” he squeaked.   
  
“Yeah! I've always wanted a grandson, and I’ve been looking for someone to try and help me,” she laughed, hugging him. “I think a medic would be perfect,” Joanes screamed in pure joy, picking her off of the ground and twirling her in the air. Correll just laughed.   
  
“Jacob! We can go live together in my apartment!” Morgan said, smiling uncontrollably. “Oh, Itixi will be so happy to see you.”   
  
Everyone else discussed their plans for going home as Simmons stood there with a blank expression.    
  
“Where’s Grif?” Agent ‘Indy’ asked, almost as if he read Simmons’s mind. Blue Team’s joyful expressions slowly turned grim. They looked at each other with knowing expressions.   
  
“...I don't think he’ll want to go back,” Jacob said. “He's not exactly in the best condition right now.”   
  
“Oh! Well… uhm, okay! Just call Command and confirm your decision and… yeah! I’m happy for you guys!” he said, going into the Pelican. “Goodbye!” he waved.   
  
As they watched the Pelican lift off, Simmons stood there and watched it fly off in confusion.   
  
What happened to Grif?   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally the worst/shortest chapter I've EVER written but i honestly do not care anymore. the final chapter will be longer to make up for it


	7. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif tells Simmons some stories. Grif faces his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half of this chapter has no bold or italic words so. yeah

It had been a week since the announcement.

“I still just can't believe Grif is a freelancer. **_A freelancer_**!” Joanes exclaimed, hanging up a few red ribbons while standing on a wooden stool. “Can you believe that, Simmons?”

“Can't believe I haven't seen him for a week,” Simmons mumbled, hunching his shoulders. He sat on the couch, frowning. Red Base got rather boring after the news had spread: Joanes constantly went over to Blue Base to talk to Correll or decorate for the party, Eleanor kept on calling someone and never stopped to talk to him, and Lion was... somewhere. No one really knew where the fuck Lion was.

Since nobody really did anything around base anymore, Simmons felt like it was his responsibility to do all of Red Base’s duties. Basically, he did all of the things he usually did but with the extra, tedious chore of washing armor.

As he scrubbed Joane’s beige armor, his phone went off in his pocket. He scoffed and finished a particularly bad spot and then took it out. The message was from Grif.

He swore he almost dropped his phone right then and there. _Grif was alive_?

_> hey dude<_

_> are you okay???<_

_> no. i want to come over to red base soon<  
>there’s a lot i want to talk about<_

Simmons paused. _> what do you want to talk about?<_

_> i will tell you when i get there<  
>do u have a certain time or what<_

_> just as soon as it’s safe to leave.<_

_> k. so like is 11:30 okay?”_

_Simmons thought about it. >sure.<_

He still was shivering from pure joy and excitement, but at the same time was startled. Grif had finally messaged him, he was coming over, and he wanted to talk… Maybe? No. He doubted it.

He went back to cleaning off Joanes’s armor, which seemed to barely have been touched over the past few days, except for tiny black and blue splotches on the chest plate.

“Hey Simmons,” Eleanor said, making him jump. He stood by the doorway, her arms crossed as she leaned back on the doorframe. He didn't look at her. “Sorry for slapping you… I guess?”

“It's fine,” Simmons murmured.

“...I kind of thought we could talk about stuff?”

“About what, exactly?”

“I don't know, stuff you want to… know about me?” she said awkwardly, then shaking her head in regret. She sat down on a wooden crate, crossing her legs.

“Who do you keep calling?” he asked, looking up at her for one moment. She turned a bit red.

“Jules,” she said curtly. “she keeps on updating me on how Grif’s doing.”

Simmons stopped. “How is he doing? Is he okay?”

“Uh, he hasn't really recovered fully, but from what she's told me, he's doing a lot better,” she said, “the stuff he's been through sounds like Hell.”

“Did she specify?”

“I didn't really pay attention to those parts, sorry. He just starts having flashbacks when he hears or sees certain things.”

“Like your blood thing?” he asked.

“Y-Yeah, kind of like that,” she whispered, “didn't think you'd remember that.”

“I did.”

“Oh, well... I digress. I don't know much except for like, someone close to him died..? Maybe his like... sister or something? I don't know, I mostly just talk to Jules about other stuff.” She chuckled. “Like her trying to set you and Gri-” she stopped. Simmons turned to look at her.

“ _What_?”

“Nothing! _Nothing_. She's doing **nothing**.”

“ _She's trying to set us up?!_ ” he shrieked.

“Uhm, _bye_!” she squeaked, running out of the room. He just sat there, his mouth agape.

He expected this from Jacob, but Jacob’s sister? What? Jules was the most unromantic, least likely person he knew that would ever do that, right behind Correll. Forgetting the armor, he went to the previously unknown sender.

>jules?<

>how did you figure it out<

>eleanor just told me. why were you trying to set me and grif up?<

>he really likes you. he's mentioned you a couple of times and whenever he does his face just lights up and tbh it's one of the cutest things i've ever seen cause he then describes you in such a deep way and??? its just really obvs you two should be together adsfgsshgfdj<

“... ** _Fuck_** ,” he whispered.

So maybe it was a bit more likely.

  
It was 11:25 P.M.

Simmons sat on the couch, eagerly waiting for Grif to show up. He had turned on the TV, although Grif never specified whether or not he wanted to play games. As he fiddled with a controller’s joystick, the door creaked open. He turned around to see Grif standing there, looking at him with a strange expression that both resembled withheld regret and worry.

“Hey, Grif, w-wanna play?” he squeaked, trying way too hard to be casual.

“...Sure, I guess,” he mumbled, joining him on the couch. Simmons started up the menu screen and gave Grif an embarrassing, toothy grin. Grif just snorted.

“So… what’d you want to talk about?”

  
Grif sighed. “I… it was… it feels indescribable. One second I’m okay and the next I’m having a breakdown in the corner of my room and seeing… them.”

  
“Who’s them?” Simmons asked, furrowing his brow.

  
Grif chuckled. “It just… they’ve haunted my dreams, turning my daydreams to fiery hellscapes,” he said. “They change every time. Sometimes they just speak one word over and over, sometimes they yell at me for what seems like years, but the worst is when they stay silent.” Simmons looked at him with an empathetic expression as Grif’s face seemed to fall. “Let’s just play the game already.”

Simmons blinked at him and uncomfortably readjusted his posture, watching the loading screen.

“I didn’t thi-“

  
“Simmons, I’ll tell you what I did, but just… don’t tell anyone I said this. Not even Jules,” he mumbled, “please.”

Simmons looked at him with a concerned, yet sympathetic expression. “I won’t.”

Grif told the tale of how Robyn had died in a blood-filled stabbing, his eyes lost in an emotion Simmons couldn’t describe as he listened in pure and utter horror. His fists clenched as he described Robyn’s betrayed expression as they died, his tears coming down in a deluge.

“I am so, so sorry,” Simmons whispered, putting his lithe hand on his shoulder. Grif seemed to slightly tense up at the sudden touch but relaxed and blinked at him with a bittersweet expression. There was one part of the story Grif had never told anyone until that night.

 

Grif stared at Robyn’s bloodied body in pure horror. Their heartbeat had completely faded, their eyes were exempt from emotion, and their limbs just felt like a puppet’s. The bile started rising in his throat as he kept staring at their lifeless face. He looked away with tears in his eyes, his mouth filled with heat and the taste of iron. His eyes were puffy and red and his cheeks were damp with salty tears. He gulped let out a shaky exhale.

He knew what he had to do.

Carefully, he lifted them off of the ground, his body trembling, and went towards the back of the base. He wanted to find the old, withered tree behind the base that Robyn loved. He remembered cherished memories of him and Robyn exchanging ideas there, wondering about life and its small intricacies. Robyn always seemed just so happy to talk to him, their eyes filled with absolute joy as they talked about virtually anything. They just looked so happy.

He stifled a soft sob as stood in front of the tree, tears rolling down his face as he lay their body there, then backing away and grimacing.

He thought he’d be at peace, but they came back.

The dreams started after he was taken in by a nearby freelancer, Agent Montana, and stayed with them in a very small ship in a room shared with the remaining soldiers of Blue Base. Blue Base, alarmed at the murder of their captain, called command and told of what happened. Command was rather panicked and sent in a rescue to try and find the remaining soldiers through Montana and hoped it’d be enough to save them.

There were three soldiers left.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” a blue soldier, Bristle, cried. “I can’t get a job. There’s no way. What am I gonna do after this?”

“I just can’t believe he would just do that,” Caboose whispered, staring blankly at the floor. “I can’t believe it.”

“I could,” Grif murmured.

“Oh, Grif- I am so sorry about what happened to Robyn, he really-”

“They.”

“...Oh, sorry, uhm, okay, so they were a really good soldier and I wish they go back to their family soon,” Bristle said, slightly alienated.

Grif cringed. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft murmurs of the two soldiers and saw them standing there.

“...Robyn?” he whispered. Robyn just stared at him, unmoving and wordless. “Robyn, I’m sorry.”

Robyn didn’t say anything, just looked away with an expression of disbelief.

“I fucking mean it! I didn’t think that bastard Lieu would actually do that to you, I’m so, so sorry!” he sobbed. Robyn flashed him a look of disgust and shook their head, evaporating into thin air as his dreams faded into reality.

  
Montana has taken him to a strange, grey room. Behind a screen, someone interrogated him.

“Now, regarding happened at your base, how do you feel about it?”

“I’d love to erase it from my consciousness,” he joked.

“How do you feel towards Lieu?”

“How do I feel? I feel like I want to punch his little, smug face until it’s pure red.”  
“...I see. Private Grif, I understood this caused you quite the amount of trauma, and we apologize for that, but we have a mission for you while we prepare for you to go home.”

Grif perked up. “A mission?”

“Yes, a mission. We want to send you to one of our simulation canyons. If you do well, we may just recruit you as a freelancer.”

“I’m sorry, a freelancer?”

“Yes. Is this… alarming?”

“Don’t know why me, but, yeah, it sounds pretty fun,” he mumbled.

“Great. We’ll be sending you to Canyon #051, Codename: Sunset Canyon.”

Grif smiled a bit. Sent in with a few soldiers on a clean slate. What could go wrong?

Turns out, everything.

 

The Pelican was on fire.

“Grif, you need to jump out right now!” the co-pilot screamed.

“I’m gonna die!” He squeaked, staring down at the ground.

“You’re just going to die in the crash no matter what! If you jump, you might have a chance! You’ve got to jump, Grif!”

She was right. “Okay, okay, 1, 2, 3…”

 

  
“Then I plummeted to the ground, and then your team found me, and… I guess that’s it,” Grif shrugged.

“...Holy shit,” Simmons whispered. “You survived jumping out of a Pelican?”

“Barely. I would’ve just died if it wasn’t for the healing unit they installed,” he said. “It’s been a pretty wild ride.”

“Can we talk about Robyn?” Simmons asked.

Grif looked at him. “What do you want to know?” he said gravely.

“I don’t think the Robyn you see in your dreams is actually Robyn, just an illusion your mind created to deal with the pain. It’s highly unlikely ghosts exist- there’s no evidence.”

“I know that,” he snarled, “I’m not a fucking idiot. It’s just very… unnerving.”

“No, I’m saying that you haven’t been able to accept Robyn’s death,” Simmons concluded. “That’s why they keep showing up because somewhere you believe they’re still alive.”

Grif’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh fuck. You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

“Yeah. I can’t really help there but, maybe if you just… try to forget?”

“Maybe that’s possible…” Grif mumbled. “Maybe.”

 

  
He went back to Blue Base and lay in his bed, his eyes closed. The world darkened, as it always did, and he was standing in the familiar black void. He knew what was going happen, but this time, he wasn’t scared.

“Hello Grif,” Robyn sang, appearing right in front of him. “How are you doing today?”

“You’re not real,” he growled, staring into their eyes.

“I know that, Grif. We both know that.”

“You’re dead, Robyn. You’re dead. You need to stop doing this,” he demanded, his throat clenched.

“I’m sorry, what? You think I’m just going to leave?” they laughed. “You are so naïve. Did your little friend Simmons tell you to try and nicely ask me to leave? Pathetic.”

“No,” he whispered. “He told me I need to forget.”

“Oh, so you have been talking to him. Talking about how much you absolutely love him,” they mocked.

Grif just stared at Robyn with pure, utter hatred in his eyes.

“You’re not the real Robyn. Robyn. Is. Dead. I’m not sorry. Goodbye, you fucker.”

The apparition laughed, not noticing at first that their body was slowly fading away. “Oh, you are just so- Wait. FUCK! FUCK!” They started frantically trying to bring themselves back, but both of their legs and forearms had already vanished.

Grif looked away, not wanting to see their face. “LOOK AT WHAT YOU’RE DOING TO ME! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE, YOU COWARD!” they cried out in fear. One, final, anguished roar erupted from their body as they disappeared, never to be seen again.

Robyn was dead, and so was their unholy imposter. Grif was at peace with his past, but now, needed to deal with the present.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really appreciate comments and kudos, shows me that people care. don’t be afraid to comment and ask questions, i swear i won’t murder you.
> 
> please don’t read below if you don’t like small vents.
> 
> -
> 
> this is so goddamn awful, im sorry.
> 
> a lot of really bad things are happening in my life right now and i couldn’t possibly be more upset. i wanted to spend a lot more time on this chapter but right now i’m really unstable emotionally. this will probably be the last update for quite a while. im sorry. ill try to make up for it in chapter eight but just. please be patient with me. thank you. with all of those who genuinely adore this fic: thank you so much. all of you mean so much to me.


	8. Goodbye..?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif thanks Simmons for what he did. The crew have a reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so turns out I already wrote most of this like. A month ago??? So this came way earlier than anticipated 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoy it :)

The party had begun.

 

“Hey, Simmons, Morgan showed up!” Joanes called out from a separate room.

 

“That’s nice, Joanes,” he shouted back, staring at himself in the mirror. He was mildly bothered that everyone’s last look at him would have him wearing just a black t-shirt in a measurement too small and Joanes’s maroon sweatpants. His eyes had bags beneath them and his face just seemed to scream “ _ insomnia _ ”. He was hunched over the mirror, squinting to try and make out his miniscule features, didn’t notice until his nose bumped against it. He huffed, embarrassed but pleased that no one saw him, and walked outside to see an orange blur (Joanes), and four new, colorful blurs he didn’t recognize. 

 

“ _ Holy shit _ .  **_Simmons_ ** !  _ You look like a train wreck! _ ” the lavender blob exclaimed, likely Morgan. “What happened to you dude? And where are your glasses?” 

 

“Forgot to get ‘em,” he slurred, floundering back into his room. “I’ll find… it.”

 

“Where’d you get that graduation cap?” he heard Joanes ask as he closed the door. He sloppily scoured his small room, which was actually a previously untouched storage closet,  and picked up his glasses that were on the floor. He made a strange, raptor-like noise for no real reason and walked back over to the group, his vision now clear. He saw that Blue Team was still there and sighed heavily when he saw that Grif wasn’t there. 

 

He furrowed his brow when he saw what all four of them were wearing. Correll was still wearing her armor, Jules was wearing hers as well but with an inflatable duck above it, Jacob was wearing sunglasses and a red jumpsuit, and Morgan donned a full-body pajama suit with a skirt and graduation cap. “You know I had to do it to em’,” Morgan remarked, folding his hands.

 

“What. The fuck.”

 

“Correll challenged us to find the most ridiculous thing we could find and wear it to the party, and she’d give all of us each $100 in universal currency,” Jacob said, shrugging. “Who won?”

 

“Morgan.  _ Definitely  _ Morgan,” Simmons said, staring at the graduation cap. 

 

“I like Jules’s more. It’s funnier,” Joanes reasoned, “Cause like. The armor doesn’t work underwater. You did that intentionally,  _ right _ ?

 

“You guys have Mario Kart?” Jacob said, walking over to the TV and picking up a game case and shaking it slightly. Morgan perked up.

 

“Uh… yeah?”

 

“Can we play?” Morgan asked enthusiastically, running over to Jacob and hugging him. Please.” 

 

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged, “I guess.”

 

“Wait, shouldn’t we wait for Grif?” Jules asked, slyly winking at Simmons. Morgan, noticing the wink, looked at Simmons with a surprised but knowing expression and gave a thumbs up. Simmons turned beet red and stared at Jules with an indescribably frustrated expression.

 

“Oh, yeah! Forgot he was showing up,” Jacob said, puzzled to why everyone was gazing at Simmons for no reason.

 

Simmons just sighed. “Okay, okay, you all can just... do whatever. Set it up. I need fresh air,” he stammered, hobbling toward the front door. He could hear Jacob frantically scramble over someone yelling something. Simmons rolled his eyes and opened the door to feel the cold, crisp breeze. He closed the door behind him and smiled softly.  The soft, chill winds brushed against his pale skin in the moonlight, his red hair waving slightly in the draft. He took deep breaths and was startled to see someone coming towards him. 

 

“Grif?” he asked, startled.

 

“Follow me,” Grif said, simpering. He held out his hand. “I wanna show you somethin’.”

 

Simmons took his hand hesitantly and followed him across the canyon. 

 

“Where are we going?” “You’ll see.”

 

They slowly advanced to the rock field and took an unexpected turn to the right, away from Blue Base. He led Simmons through the boulders, holding his hand the whole way. Everytime Simmons slowed down, he slowed down, and every time Simmons sped up, he sped up. Even when he felt unsure about where he was going, he still trusted Grif. They were in perfect sync with each other.

 

“Okay, uhm… Close your eyes,” Grif said. Simmons complied, closing them completely shut as Grif led him downward. The terrain got slightly steeper and he frowned, perplexed. He could abruptly smell something he would have never suspected: moss. Something with plants. What could a plant be doing in a literal  _ wasteland _ ? It felt cooler, wherever they were, and Simmons shivered somewhat. Grif clasped his hand softly and stopped.

 

“Okay.. uh, open your eyes,” Grif said, letting go of his hold. Simmons opened his eyes and gaped in utter wonder.

 

“How- Wha… H-” he exalted, staring at an oasis.  _ An oasis _ ! A beautiful, deep blue pond glistened in the light, circled with ferns, except in one, singular spot, which was coated in dew, small pines, and spores. 

 

“Uhm, there's something really cool about the uh... pond,” Grif murmured, kneeling down to the space without greenery. Simmons sat next to him and stared at the water in wonder. “Just wave your hand around in the water, or somethin’. It looks cool, trust me.”

 

Simmons, confused, sat next to Grif and put his lanky legs into the freezing water. He yelped, alarmed by the visual and the cold touch. His legs, now knee deep into the water, had a teal, glowing ripple around it. He gently dragged his hand across the pond, leaving a lustrous trail behind it that dissipated back to its regular blue. 

 

“Bioluminescent plankton,” he whispered, “I don’t think it’s dangerous. At least, I hope it isn’t… anyways, I thought you might’ve liked this, so I thought you may have wanted to talk here at least one last time?”

 

“Grif, this is…  _ Amazing _ .  _ I love it _ ,” he breathed, “Thank you.”

 

Grif gave him a dorky smile, his cheeks burning red. “Uhm, so…”

 

“Oh, yeah, what did you want to talk about?” Simmons asked, looking at him with a fascinated expression.

 

“I… I…” he stammered, “I just wanted to say thanks.”

 

“For what?” he asked, tilting his head. 

 

“You helped, Simmons. You helped me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You helped me deal with the pain without being just so  _ cold _ and  _ distant _ from me. You became my only fucking  _ friend _ in this empty valley. Thank you.”

 

“You.. you know what? I'm going to say it,” Simmons gulped, “I had hallucinations, too, for a while. Absolutely  _ terrifying _ hallucinations. Sometimes it felt like I had bugs wriggling all over me, sometimes it felt like my whole body was going to collapse, and once I thought my organs were outside my fucking body,” Simmons warbled, “but... I think you helped. I don't know how, but… you helped, Grif. You helped me get better.”

 

They gazed into each other's eyes, both brimming with tears. Grif put his hand on top of Simmons’s and he accepted, wrapping his fingers around Grif’s. Grif slowly glided his other hand into a cup shape below Simmons’s head and laughed hysterically, a tear rolling down his face. “Oh, my fuck, Simmons, Simmons…”

 

“What?” he asked, staring at the tracks of tears down Grif’s face, laughing a bit too.

 

“I am like, so  _ terribly  _ in love with you. Like,  _ uncontrollably  _ in love. Like, I could kiss you  _ right now _ . Is that okay Simmons? Is that okay?” he proposed, a huge smile painted across his face.

 

“Yes,” Simmons sniffled, “fuck  _ yes _ , that's okay!”

 

Grif smiled wide and kissed Simmons on the lips. He backed away and kissed him again, but his teeth met with Simmon’s lips. He started laughing so unbelievably hard and just stared at Simmons so lovingly that it felt like a dream.  “This doesn't feel real,” Grif whispered, “but I know it is. I love you!  _ I love you! _ ”

 

“Me too,” Simmons laughed. Grif let his arms down and interlocked his scarred hands with Simmons’s small, thin ones. “I never want to let you go, you know that?” he swooned.

 

“I know. I just… I love you! I love you so, so, so much and I just can't believe you said that to me...” Grif expressed. Simmons just smiled and looked at Grif fondly, his arms around his wide shoulders.

 

**_“I love you.”_ **

  
  
  


It had been 10 years since they left.

 

It was a frosty morning, the grass on the front lawn frozen with dew. The sky was rose with beige whisps, the Sun’s reflection making everything shimmer in a glorious glow. Simmons shuffled outside, still in his pajamas, and took one singular letter out from his mailbox. It didn’t have an address, a stamp: anything, just a plain, white envelope with a blue, wax seal. He cocked his head and walked back inside, closing the front door behind him. 

 

“Hey, Grif,” he called out, “got a letter.”

 

“Bills?” he asked, shuffling through papers on the couch. 

 

“No. I don’t exactly know what it is. It has no address or anything,” he said, puzzled.

 

“Give me it,” Grif said, grasping it from his hands. He scrutinized both sides and pushed his glasses back slightly, staring at the parchment. “Maybe they wrote it in invisible ink.”

 

“Why and  _ how  _ could a postal worker read an address in  _ invisible ink _ ?”

 

“I dunno. They’ve got weird scanner shit now, maybe has some ultraviolet light readin’ em or somethin’? I dunno,” he mumbled.

 

“What’d you think is  _ inside _ ?” Simmons asked, joining Grif on the couch and wrapping his arm around Grif’s shoulder. 

 

“How would I know? Let’s just open it,” he shrugged, tearing the envelope open. He took out a folded up piece of paper, crinkled at the edges and covered with smoothened folds previously there. He unfolded it, his tattered fingers coiled around the top and squinted.

  
  


_ Hello there! _

 

_ You’ve got this message and are probably thinking this is just some weird letter. Well, you’re right! But probably not what you’re thinking still. _

 

_ I’m inviting you to Kari’s Café for a small meeting at 11:30 A.M. on Saturday, March 5th. I cannot tell you everyone coming, but we were all in the same situation a couple years back. You’ll know when you see me. _

 

_ Love and hope, Mr. Jones. _

 

“I know that name,” Simmons rustled. “but I don’t know where  _ from _ .”

 

“Jones is a really popular name, dude,” Grif snarked. “Probably some weird-ass spam.”

 

“No, no- I mean- I know someone with that last name. Someone who perfectly matched that description,” he said, meeting gazes with Grif. Grif raised his eyebrow.  

 

“That one weird, Swedish, milk guy?” he asked.

 

“No, no no, not that- someone  _ else _ ,” Simmons insisted. Grif just shook his head. 

 

“Now how am I supposed to know what the hell  _ that  _ means, Simms,” he grumbled. 

 

“I know  _ precisely  _ who it is,” he said, pointing his finger in the air while running to his room. “Hold on, hold on! I need to get the old photos!” Simmons scoured his room, the noise of multiple boxes thunking against the floor. He shuffled through the boxes for a moment before returning with multiple pictures in his hands. He plopped back on the couch and shuffled through, showing him the photographs.

 

“See! Look, it’s him!” he exclaimed, pointing to a picture of a yellow armored soldier waving to the camera. You could sort of see his passionate expression through the visor, smiling uncontrollably. He went to another picture of a young man with blue eyes and shoulder-length curly hair, giving a toothy grin while winking. In the background was a picture of a young, red-haired man staring out a window from his bed. On the bottom was a message, “Taking care of Simmons!” with a smiley face at the end. Simmons compared the handwriting of the letter to that of the picture and they matched almost identically. 

 

“I don’t… Wait, wait… was he a doctor?” Grif asked.

 

“He was a medic, but yeah- a less competent doctor.”

 

“I think I kind of remember him. At least, his face,” he mumbled. “It’s so weirdly  _ smooth _ . He looks like an egg.” 

 

Simmons chuckled heartily. “Yeah, yeah- he kinda does!” he wheezed. “Never thought of that.”

 

“That’s you, right?” he asked, pointing to the guy in the bed.

 

“Yeah. My armor’s right there,” he said, pointing to a pile of random, green armor pieces on the place next to the bed. “Wouldn’t you know that? You were there, too.”

 

“I only saw you in the armor  _ once _ ,” he said, holding up one finger. He suddenly blushed, realizing the weird sexual undertones it gave off. Simmons didn’t realize it and just laughed it off.

 

“Yeah, I guess you did,” he said, making Grif’s mental image even worse than previously. “Anyways, we need to get ready.”

 

“It’s in  _ two hours _ . We’re fine.”

 

“Still. I haven’t seen them in forever.”

 

“Neither have I and frankly, I don’t care,” he shrugged. “They didn’t do anything for me. Why should I bother?”

 

“It’d be kind of awkward if you didn’t show up,” Simmons guessed. “I still digress, I need to go get an outfit ready.”

 

Grif snickered and stared at the remaining photos he left behind. He shuffled through the rest and recognized some people.

 

There was one of a field of tall, jarring rocks jutting out of the ground like a shark’s teeth. Another was a picture of a tall woman with dark hair in a messy bun with a distinctive mole at the corner of her mouth. She looked rather reluctant to have her picture taken, but still nervously smiled. Another was of two men, totally clad in vibrant armor and smiling. Their faces were hidden by helmets, but you could still see their love-stricken faces. In the final photo was multiple people cheering while playing a game. A man dressed in a full body pajama suit, a skirt, and graduation cap looked like he was yelling next to the woman from earlier, an older elderly lady, and a relaxed man staring at the yelling one with a joking expression. Their faces seemed so unbelievably familiar, he just couldn’t remember their names for the life of him. 

 

But he’d see them soon, and maybe then he’d remember, right?

  
  


It was 11:12 A.M.

 

“Come on Grif, we gotta go!” Simmons exclaimed, wearing a brand new outfit even Grif had never seen before. Grif followed behind, scurrying out the door in an old hoodie that felt like Simmons’s. Simmons gave a curt nod, smiling when he noticed and grabbed his hand, attempting to guide him towards the café. Grif chuckled, following him in the light mist outside. Simmons squeezed his hand gently and moved along, almost looking as if he was dragging Grif behind him. They wandered around a few blocks as Grif aimlessly admired random stores he had seen hundreds of times. He was surprised when Simmons suddenly stopped in his tracks. 

 

“It’s right there,” Simmons blurted, almost running in. Grif followed behind, confused by his sudden burst of energy. When he walked in, he immediately saw him.

 

Two were awkwardly lined up to the left side to fit everyone, along with eight of the chairs. A nervous, singular cashier just scrolled through their phone, not caring about the eight people that had just arrived out of nowhere.

 

Joanes was the first he saw, hugging Simmons as tightly as he possibly could. His hair was much shorter than it was in the pictures, he now had a bit of stubble, and his eyes seemed even bluer than previously, and of course, he still looked like an egg.

 

“You came! You came!” Joanes exclaimed, his voice muffled by Simmons’s clothing. “I’m so happy to see you!”

 

He could see at the table behind him was most of the people in the picture. The man in the absurd outfit now had his hair tied behind his back and new glasses that kind of looked like Grif’s. He laughed with a man the about the same age as him that Grif had also seen in the last photo. Nothing much had changed from the photo, except the burn on his face had completely healed, the only remnants being a slight discoloration. The older woman he had remembered was sitting next to them, smiling at him. She looked like she hadn’t even aged a day, the only way to tell being her pure white hair. 

 

“Oh, Grif! You showed up!” Joanes said, approaching him. “Jules and Eleanor should be here soon. You can sit down here!” he said, patting a chair opposite of Morgan. He sat down and raised an eyebrow at Morgan, who was pointing at him.

“You- You’re the guy!” Morgan exclaimed. Morgan looked at Simmons and gasped. “ _ YOU’RE THE OTHER GUY!!” _

 

Grif and Simmons just laughed. “Yeah, we’re Guy and Other Guy,” Grif replied snarkily. 

 

“Their names are like… Gruff, and he’s like Simon, right?” he whispered to the man next to him. He mumbled back a response they both couldn’t hear. “Ooh, gotcha.”

 

“How have things been, Grif?” the older woman asked.

 

“Good, Good,” he said, folding his hands. 

 

“Wait, Jule’s bringing Riley,  _ right _ ?” Morgan said, looking at Jacob with a panicked expression.

 

“Of course. She wouldn’t forget,” he comforted, “probably.” Morgan just started shaking and holding his head. “Wait- Yeah! Yeah, she’s coming,” Jacob said, running his fingers through Morgan’s hair. Morgan only seemed to calm down slightly, looking at Jacob with an expression filled with both love and slight distaste. 

 

“Wait, wait-  _ GUYS! ELEANOR’S HERE _ !” Joanes squealed, pumping his fists and skipping to the door. Grif laughed at his cartoonish gait and looked at Simmons for his reaction. Simmons just narrowed his gaze.

“Wait, who’s Eleanor?” he whispered. 

 

“She was in recovery with you, I think,” Grif whispered. 

 

“Oh! Her. She was kind of-“

 

The door opened to reveal an incredibly handsome Eleanor, somehow looking even younger than she was during the war. She stuck out her tongue at the group looking at her, then making a “rock on” symbol with her hands. “‘Sup?” 

 

Following behind her was Jules in a business suit, holding the hand of a 12-year-old child with splotches of light, teal skin. 

 

“Riley!” “Jules!” “Ellie!” Morgan, Jacob, and Joanes said in unison, rushing towards them, and embracing them. Morgan picked the child off of the ground and smiled happily, putting her back down. Jacob hugged Jules and murmured something in her ear. Joanes gushed about how glad he was to see Eleanor. Correll just smiled.

 

“Come on guys! Take your seats,” Joanes said eagerly, taking out a camera. The group sat down and posed for the picture in various ways. Simmons just looked at Grif and chuckled.

 

“Alright, everyone!” Joanes shouted, trying to get the perfect angle, “1.. 2.. 3…”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for your information: lion is not at the reunion because he had a heart attack four years before. joanes just didn’t know where caboose lived (he basically just did extensive searches to find everyone’s address, probably illegally). also someone please send fanart of morgan in that outfit mentioned near the beginning i’m begging you
> 
> i’d like to thank yin, spookyfreelancer, and a bunch of others for supporting me while i made this. special thanks to patricia and micah for beta reading. thank you to everyone who left comments/kudos! it means a lot to me, since this is my first fic and the first thing I’ve actually finished lmao.
> 
> this is the end of TCNS. if requested enough, i may make a spin-off about certain characters (cough, joanes and morgan, cough). again, thank you all for reading, and have a wonderful day/night.
> 
> \- brett, aka, eatsometea51


	9. Announcement (NOT A CHAPTER)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just read this if you care about this fic

hey y’all, Brett here!

 

this fic is an absolute disappointment to me! i went over it again and i realized I didn’t resolve 100 different problems and I could just?. get rid of caboose and Robyn and there’d be no difference to the story?? so I’m rewriting this into a really long one-shot! i will keep this up as an archive of the old version for people to laugh at or whatever until the renewed one is released. do what you want. 

so uh!! tldr: rewriting this fic into a one shot, this will only be up until I finish it and possibly rename it. 

i promise you, if you liked the original, you’ll probably like the rewrite. maybe. not sure. but it’ll be better.

 

thanks for reading, love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to talk to me, send in fanart, or correct me on something, please contact me at @venochu on tumblr and/or on instagram. Thank you for your time, and have a wonderful day/night. :)


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